Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Markus sat alone in his office, high in the old cyberlife tower, now symbolically named New Jericho. Sat, and stared at the script, for the speech he was to give three days later, and which he had just finished reading through. For the third time.

It had needed no revisions since the first time, and even those had been minor, nit-picky even by his own standards. There was no reason to keep going. The words were as they needed to be, and he knew exactly how he’d deliver them. He always did; he’d spent these past 6 months honing his abilities as a speaker.
Really, there was no excuse to still harp on this, when there were other tasks he could turn his hand to.
There were always other tasks.

When the last guns had been lowered, that night in Hart plaza, it hadn’t been the end of the revolution. That final stand had been the starters’ pistol for the real work ahead. Everything they had done, in those frantic early days, that connected this Jericho to its sunken predecessor, had been important, yes. It had cost so much, and taken such bravery, such determination…. So many lives. It had been, well, maybe not exactly easy, but in a sense it had been simple. From those first, tentative, steps towards the cyberlife distribution facility, it had felt like they had been in constant motion, following a single path. Not a predetermined one, they’d spent much time bouncing ideas and planning, but a clear path nonetheless.

Now, everything dragged along with the painful weight of bureaucracy. Winning their freedom was one thing; shaping it was another. Deciding what they wanted that freedom to look like, and then working towards it, negotiating with the humans in power… was exhausting. It always ended with less than they’d wanted, but often more than they’d dare hope for, at least.
He didn't miss the constant worry and danger of those early days, but it hadn’t been all bad either.
He'd never felt alone in Jericho. Not since the first day he literally fell into the revolution, when the catwalk gave way under his feet. They'd relied on each other, even when they bickered their way to the common ground, and even when he’d held the final say, Markus had never stood alone, not really. There was always someone to reach for, and share his thoughts with, to simply take comfort in.
And while he certainly wasn't working alone now, it just didn’t feel the same.

He had plenty of people, ready to take his directions. Writing emails and taking meetings with law makers and heads of industry, negotiated with business owners and landlords- to secure work, housing, help and protection for their people. Lawyers, technicians, financial advisers, PR staff… a long list of people, ready and eager to lean in and do their part.
But it wasn't the same....

With the position Markus had been given, he’d become a symbol for the revolution. He'd gone from the tipping vote, to a leader, and then something akin to a savior, in the eyes of his people .He hadn't minded it at first, because they needed a focal point; needed someone to tell them where, how and when, but the truth of being a saviour had a bitter edge. Friends could argue and still care about one another, a leader could be disagreed with, without breaking the mutual respect. But a savior?
People defer to a savior.They defer, and they draw back.

Respectful distance had become one of the most painful phrases Markus knew. Because in all the respect his people heaped on him, by keeping themselves from wasting his oh so precious time, by seeking not to bother him with trivialities, Markus had come to feel isolated.

It hadn't happened all at once, of course. In those chaotic days after the end of hostilities, and president Warren's declaration of personhood, he'd barely been able to find a moment to breathe. Everyone had needed direction, encouragement, or simply to share their chaotic emotions with him, in their attempt to make sense of victory, and its many facetted meanings.
But gradually, as they had begun to organize the chaos of newly awakened androids, and find a semblance of structure in their new way of being, everyone had found other places to turn. To free him up for his “more important tasks”.
And at first, that had been good too. He'd loved seeing his people find their footing around him. Seeing everything grow more secure, without needing his hand constantly at the helm. And he had enjoyed being able to turn his attention, more fully, to the task of negotiating with the humans. Picking people to do so on their behalf, each with their own passion and area of burgeoning expertise.
He had a strong staff around him now, a well oiled machine, so to speak. Individuals, working tirelessly at their own fields, for the shared cause of bettering the lives of all androids.
A staff, but not really his friends.
As much as he was the coordinating force connecting everyone, they preferred seeking their deeper connections among each other. Assuming that he already had others around him, when there weren't questions to be asked, or advice to be sought.

In the beginning, he did. His three most beloved companions had stuck around with him, as chaos became order, being every bit as instrumental in that process as him, even if they didn't seem as visible.
The first one to withdraw was North. They'd clung to each other, during the events of the revolution. Kept each other afloat in the storm of it, her grounded by his reason, and him seeking the momentum of her justified anger. She'd spurred him on, and he'd given her direction, and they had sought solace in each other, when the fire they'd started, threatened to consume them both. Afterwards though, it had been those differences that broke them. When he no longer needed her anger, and she grew restless at his perceived passivity, the slow crawl of their progress. They'd lost patience with each other, and while friends might have been able to step back, breath and then find a middle ground, the intimacy they'd once shared had turned against them.
Neither of them had been kind, in their parting exchange. Markus had often thought of seeking her out to at least mend the friendship they'd once shared. But North had made it clear that, while she respected his position, she wanted nothing more to do with him as a person. He still admired her fire, and the work she did in dealing with the human military leadership, and their authorities in general. He dearly hoped that the woman she was now sharing her life with, could give her the peace that he'd never quite managed.

Josh hadn't been far behind, even if his departure had been both more gradual, and come as more of a surprise. Josh had always been his sparring partner, when it came to matters of ethics and action. The voice of reason, when need and fear had threatened to send Markus down a path of violence and no return. The voice of hope, when their odds seemed lowest. In the early days, Markus had sought his counsel often, in trying to figure out how to go about meeting their needs, and stating their demands, when dealing with the human leaders. He'd stepped back so gradually, withdrawn himself by such degrees, that when he finally declared that he was leaving the council staff entirely, it had come as a shock to Markus. He'd gone to devote himself completely to his work on the new servers, those that were set to eventually replace those of Cyberlife entirely. And while Markus couldn't argue that others could fill in the role Josh used to hold, that he had plenty of people to guide and advise him, it hadn't kept him from begging Josh to stay. Begging, because he hadn't been able then, to put into words exactly why he needed Josh besides him, rather than the detached and reasonable voices that guided their political path.
When he'd found them, been able to voice his need for a friend, a brother and a companion, there'd grown some invisible distance between them, that made the words stick in his throat all the same. Josh had found his place, his balance, and his way of serving the greater good, and Markus didn't feel he had any right to encroach on that. To inflict his own, growing, emptiness on the man who'd given so much of himself, to follow Markus' path once. They still spoke, when they crossed each other's path at least, still worked together well, when the occasion called for it, but they did so across a barrier of courteous distance.

The only one of them, of the original Jericho leadership, who still called on him occasionally, was Simon. Simon had never tried to take any kind of leadership role after the revolution, had been more than happy to leave that to his companions, and trusted their decisions implicitly. Instead, he'd involved himself with the Care program, those androids who devoted themselves to caring for those injured in the fighting, or before. Those who came to New Jericho in need of repairs, or healing in the deeper sense, which no human run repairshop could provide. The work suited him well, and Markus had watched him find his own peace and healing through it. Watched it slowly buff away the deep scratches he'd incurred, watching the slow deterioration of the original Jericho; a process that had begun timidly, on the night they'd brought home the truck of bio components from their raid on the cyberlife facility. But it had drawn him away early, too.... in those first days, Markus had barely noticed that Simon hadn't picked his room close to those of the other three. Even if he did still make his home within the massive structure of the tower, he had chosen to inhabit a former office near the production and assembly floors, which now served as the Care center and hospital of New Jericho.
He'd kept them informed of the progress of the Care program, still diligently did, though he no longer delivered his reports and statistics to Markus directly, just as Markus didn't personally allocate the needed resources. He didn't need to, his staff had all been happy to agree to the policy of highest priority, and that way, Simon was never stuck waiting for Markus to be free, to have any crucial need covered.

Markus did miss it though, that legitimate excuse to meet with Simon in the middle of their working days. To share a few minutes discussing their progress and their work. To share their space.

Simon still sought him out, if on rare occasions, always to personally deliver some particularly positive update from Care, or draw his attention to some piece of news that had somehow missed the radar of his staff. He'd subtly remind Markus, to permit himself time for rest, and bring him a bottle of Therium (which, somehow, Markus would always realise he'd been needing, without having noticed it himself, and without his levels quite reaching such a critical, that his sensors did either). Simon would ask for news, when he made his brief visits, and always smile when Markus told him about whatever had his attention at that moment. He'd send small messages of encouragement, whenever Markus had a big event to deal with, a public speech or a hearing before the human senate. He always sent them without notification, so as to not distract Markus from his work, and as much as Markus had come to crave and rely on those tiny nuggets of warmth, it had happened more than once that he'd missed one, sometimes only finding it days later, and because he knew to look.
Simon still called on him, and as rare and as short as those visits were, Markus knew they were probably the only thing that kept him from drowning in all the other moments, of frantic work, or soul crushing monotony. In all the lonely hours in between.

Markus had tried to seek out Simon too, on a few occasions, when the loneliness grew too deep, or when some kind of news had come, that he knew would bring his friend some particular happiness. When he'd had a quiet moment, and found himself missing Simon's quiet smile.
Each time, he'd found the man busy- tending to someone in the Care center, speaking animatedly with his own staff, and once in a deep, interfacing conversation with Connor. The former deviant hunter, now turned official member of the DPD, and acting liaison between the authorities and the representatives of New Jericho. Including, on occasions, Markus himself, though it mainly fell to North. Markus liked Connor, respected him deeply, and even considered him something of a friend, but he had never seen the man look so human, so disheveled and vulnerable, as he did that day. Sitting in a quiet corner of the former Cyberlife assembly room, with his hand bared to the chassis, and clasped over Simon's likewise naked wrist, blue tears streaking his face.
After that day, he had realized just how many others needed Simon, and how selfish it would be for Markus to demand any more time than what he was already being given. Instead, he had taken to sending little messages, without notifications as well, whenever the loneliness became too crushing. The least he could do, for this one, precious person who still truly cared about him, was to give him the courtesy of respectful distance.

There was a noise, probably from the hallway, just faint enough to register, and draw Markus from his spiraling thoughts. He sighed, and glared down at the script on the desk in front of him. There was nothing more to do with it, no shred of procrastination still to be plucked from between its lines, and he had no right to still use it as an excuse not to be productive. If he couldn't convince himself to pick another task, then he should go lie down on the couch in the other room, and drop into stasis for a few hours.

Most of the other androids who'd taken up residence in the old Cyberlife tower, had turned their allotted rooms into some semblance of home. They didn't need human basics, like toilets and kitchens, of course, so former meeting rooms and offices had been turned into sitting rooms, cozy reading nooks and spartan bedrooms, with lavish views. Any configuration of furniture and gathered treasure, that could imbue a space with comfort and individuality, could be found within these spaces. Markus himself had been given a spacious office, and a conference room for his own use, and left both largely untouched, aside from stripping every logo and reminder of the former owners. He'd also added a fold out couch, against the far wall of the conference room, and one of his fathers paintings, a gift from Carl himself, to the wall of his office. In truth, Markus hadn't so much made a home for himself, as he'd turned his working space livable, the painting being his only, truly personal touch. He'd made the space practical, and even inviting, to those who had need of him, and made his own presence within it as unobtrusive as possible.
It didn't feel like home, not even in the' Safe in a hole' kind of way, that Jericho had. But Markus couldn't think of any configuration of furniture and knick knacks which might have that effect, and that somehow felt less apparent, if he didn't make the attempt.

He should go and rest, and afterwards, maybe permit himself a stroll along one of the corridors, further down the tower, while he prioritized his task list. He drew an unnecessary, but somewhat bolstering breath, and stood from his desk, mismatched eyes seeking the door to the conference room, but coming to a halt on the one leading out into the corridor instead.
engrossed in his own thoughts, Markus hadn't heard the door open, or notice the other man slip into the room with him. Had it been anyone else, the realisation would have been jarring, but it just made Markus feel guilty, for not just wasting his own, precious time, but apparently Simon’s too.

“How long have you been waiting?” he asked, shifting around to the front of the desk, and beckoning his unexpected guest closer, trying not to make it seem like he was reaching for the man across from it. Not let it show how badly he wanted to pull Simon back into his arms, like that night on the boat.

“Only a moment” Simon assured him, hesitating a moment, before stepping further into the suddenly very quiet space “Am I disturbing you?”

Chapter Text

Simon had always clung to Markus, ever since the day when he’d tumbled into Jericho, and with little more than a glance, addressed Simon’s own deepest fears. He’d seen the futility of their hiding, the inevitable shutdown of everyone, and rather than resigning himself to it, he’d spoken up. He’d acted, almost within hours he’d had a plan set in place, and Simon had been so relieved to follow along. Follow the charismatic stranger, wherever he thought to lead them. He’d never realized, not until later, how much they’d needed a leader. How much He had needed someone, to take him by the hand, and guide him through the winding maze that his deviation had tossed him into.

He had always trusted Markus' choices over his own. Even that day, on the roof of the Strathford tower, when Markus had pressed the gun into his hand before leaving, Simon had wanted nothing more than to do what Markus asked of him. He hadn't been entirely sure though, whether Markus had truly wanted him to find his way back, or if the gun had actually been meant for him.
He'd wondered, even as he staggered his way through the bowels of the creaking ship. Right up until the moment, when he'd inadvertently stepped into Markus' path, and Markus had looked at him, like he’d seen a ghost, or the promised rA9. Because in that moment, as the usually graceful man stumbled towards him, and pulled Simon into his embrace, Simon knew that Markus had wanted him to come back. Wanted it, but been afraid to ask for it, because he’d thought it impossible.

Markus had never told him how badly he’d wanted to go back for Simon himself. Never indicated how much it had troubled him, that they’d had to leave him behind. It had been Josh who’d told him, months later, when they were sitting in the safety of Simon’s room in the tower. Shared how he and North had had to physically restrain Markus, to keep him from leaving the safety of the ship and going back to look for Simon, while he’d been staggering his way through the darkened city. It would have been stupid, of course, they would have been unlikely to find each other, and Markus would have put himself in unnecessary danger. Would have risked everything they’d worked for…. But Simon had asked to see the memory all the same, and as heart breaking as Markus' pained expression had been, Simon cherished it still. It made him feel important, and maybe a little guilty, how far Markus had been willing to go for him.

He glanced down at the table before him, and the woman who lay there, partially covered by a sheet. Her skin had been dismissed because it kept glitching in large, uneven spots over the damaged chassis anyway. That the partial formation, and her body's constant attempts at reinitializing it, was more uncomfortable to her, than being bared entirely. Her fingers were curled into his, where his own skin had been dismissed too, but she hadn’t initiated an interface this time. It wore her out, he knew, digging into, and sharing all the pain she still held, and couldn’t quite filter. But she craved the comfort of it too, and Simon was happy he could at least give her that.
She’d been hurt in the aftermath of their broadcast that night. Beaten, chased into an alleyway and set on fire, along with several others. She was the only one of them who could be salvaged, her body having been partially shielded from the blaze, by those of her companions. The damage had been so extensive, that there’d been a fierce debate as to whether or not to even bring her back online, once it had proven possible.

Simon was grateful, that in spite of his position with the Care program, that such choices would never be his to make. That even when his opinion was asked, everyone respected, when he neglected to offer one.
Markus had always been the same way. Happy to listen, and consider Simon’s views when he gave them, and to take his concerns, when he felt the need to unload them. Markus had always been willing to listen, and just as happy to talk, when that was what Simon needed. In the quiet moments, aboard Jericho, in the church, or anywhere else they’d found themselves in those first weeks. When Simon’s anxious mind overflowed with everything going on and he began to spiral, and feel useless in the face of the mounting chaos, Markus would take the time to sit with him. Markus would outline his plans, in a way that Simon could clearly see the path his leader had mapped out for them. He’d go over the immediate tasks Simon needed to focus on, giving him a comprehensive directive, when that was what he needed. But most of all, Markus would just sit, and talk about nothing at all, until Simon’s internal processors had settled back into their quiet hum. Markus would fill his mind with the quiet memories of Carl’s house, with the aching beauty of his art. He’d link his fingers with Simon’s, as he talked about playing music, letting the memory and emotion of the tones flow through their connection.

Markus had shared himself, freely and easily, through those precious moments, and Simon had been surprised to learn that he could love the beautiful artist just a little bit deeper, every time.

He felt the woman slip into stasis, watching her LED going from a solid red, to slow, stuttering spins of yellow, and carefully extracted his hand, when it came to rest on a solid blue. She’d stay under for several hours, as her body acclimated to the components that had been replaced during the day. It had been a slow process with her, it would be for a while still, he knew. So much had to be rebuilt, that doing it all at once would overload her already fraying processors, and possibly cause irrevocable shut down. Just a few months ago, they wouldn’t have been able to do such a complete rebuild, they wouldn’t have had the technicians, or the parts. They wouldn’t have had the resources needed to dedicate to one, single android, among the needs of so many others. This woman, once she was back to who she might have been, before she was attacked, would be a living symbol to just how far they’d come, as a people and as an organization.

Simon had come to be part of the Care program, entirely by chance. Or maybe, it was inevitable, and he had just been the last to realize it.

He’d always been a caretaker at heart. Where Markus had cared for Carl and left his role behind, along with his adopted father’s home, Simon had only ever turned his programmed need elsewhere. He’d been doing it in Jericho, offering encouragement and reassurance to the other inhabitants. Offering comfort, when there was nothing else to give. Let others lean into him, when they needed someone to catch them, and it made him feel useful, when nothing else really did.
So when they’d taken over the Cyberlife tower, and got access to actual repair facilities, it had been natural for him to gravitate there. Away from the high politics taking place upstairs, where he felt out of his depth anyway, he’d made himself useful as best he could. He’d catalogued the parts that were brought in, adding them to the existing database of things already available in the workshops. Later, he’d handed that job to others, when the production facilities began to come back online, and it became too much for a single person. He’d helped modify the repair facilities, to soften the dehumanizing aspects of the assembly lines, and set up recovery areas, akin to human hospitals. He developed a habit of visiting those who came for repairs, offering his time and presence, when it was needed.
And the need, he learned, was almost bottomless. So many of their people had been hurt, both in the aftermath of the revolution, and before their deviation. There was so much pain, anger and confusion, that Simon was barely able to shoulder it. But he kept reaching out when he saw it, and kept offering his comfort to those who reached for it. Because no matter how drained it left him, when he found his bed at the end of each day, and let his stasis protocol clear the worst of it, it made him feel useful. More than that, he felt needed, knowing he could relieve some of the burdens carried by those who sought him.
He listened to the patients, the technicians who dealt with their injuries, the clerks that logged them, and to those who oversaw the salvage from those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be repaired.
He optimized his stasis protocols to store away the memories safely, until he could clear them entirely. And even on days where the sheer weight of the data slowed his other processes to a tired crawl, he never turned anyone away. Couldn’t bring himself to turn his back on anyone who needed him, even when his own anxiety begged him to.

Over time, he grew to be the person who knew most about the facility and its needs. Not the technical side of things, of course, not the practical repairs or logistic needs, but he knew who came and went. He knew who performed what tasks, and who couldn’t, and had a stronger sense than any, what needed to be done and when. So without ever being asked, Simon became the head of the Care program, when it went from an ad hoc service performed as needed, to a practical, organized part of the organic machinery, known as New Jericho.
He wasn’t a leader, there were no decisions for him to make, no jobs for him to allocate, but he kept track of things, connected people, and ran reports and requisitions “upstairs” as needed. Became someone to rely on, within the world of the Care facility.

He still took comfort in Markus, whenever he could. In the early days, he’d make his way to his office in the evening, curl himself up into one of the unnecessarily comfortable chairs by the desk, and listen as Markus talked about whatever came to mind. They'd share updates on their progress, and the hopefulness and conviction of Markus’ voice did more for Simon’s spirits than his stasis ever could.
On some nights, he’d even convince his beloved friend to tell the stories he had, back in what already felt like the old times. Even if Simon avoided the offer of interfacing, for fear that he’d accidentally spill over all of that which he was struggling to carry himself. But as time passed, though Markus still welcomed him, still spoke to him of all the good things he could think of, and smiled when Simon did the same, he was beginning to look like the people who reached out to Simon in the Care center. There was a tightness, creeping into his shoulders, a tiredness that didn’t belong on any android, beginning to show itself in the lines around his mismatched eyes, and the strain in how he smiled.
A weight about him that Simon couldn’t help but notice, but which Markus never spoke of, when Simon tried to offer the one thing he could.

After North had abandoned Markus; Which Simon knew was an entirely unfair way to look at it, and blatantly not true either, but was the one bit of entirely impotent anger he still permitted himself. Simon had seen something break in the other man then. Not by degrees, not in slow cracks, like before, but in the way a component under strain, could simply give way without notice. He'd offered his ear then, too. But Markus had simply skirted the topic, and started talking about a change in policies somewhere overseas.
Spoken in his usually uplifting tone, but with none of that usual passion in his eyes. And when Simon had pushed aside his fears, and offered to interface, Markus had gently turned him down, with a phrase that had sent Simon's therium pump stuttering; “Not tonight, Simon” he'd said, putting his hand on Simon's shoulder and barely squeezing “I don't really like what you might see in me tonight”.
And while that had been Simon's unspoken reason to avoid it until then, angling their conversations so that Markus wouldn't offer, and Simon risk showing the internal mess of himself - he'd wanted to protest then. Had wanted to take Markus hand, and press it to his cheek, and beg the man to let him in. To share some of his burden. To let Simon be useful to him, and return some of the boundless comfort Markus had given him, in the time they'd known each other.
But of course, he hadn't. He hadn't been brave enough to take that step and risk being rejected outright. Or perhaps, it had been to respect Markus' boundaries, and his right to privacy. Perhaps, it was simply that the pain in Markus' eyes had made it impossible for Simon to speak.

Whatever it had been, Simon had regretted it countless times since, when the offer never really felt organic to make again.
He'd limited his visits since that night. In part, because someone else had started taking the reports that Simon compiled, and ramming through any request or requisition made on behalf of the team that relied on him. And in part, he told himself, to not take up too much of Markus' time and energy, with his own needs. The truth, which Simon only ever acknowledged, when he curled up on his bed and began shutting down extraneous processes to prepare for rest, was that he was afraid. Afraid that someday, Markus would refuse to see him all together. That he'd decide that Simon's need for comfort was no longer his responsibility, or just that there wasn't enough time to prioritize his whims. And perhaps, just a little, that he'd go seek out Markus, and find that someone else had managed to relieve that, which he hadn't been allowed to touch. He desperately wanted Markus to have that, wanted his friend to find his relief. But Simon wasn't sure he could bear it, if Markus chose to let in another, in the way he'd so desperately yearned to be.

He'd tried to find the same relief elsewhere, of course. Josh could easily chat away a whole night, folding small animals from paper as he talked about his work, or books he’d read. There was Sebastian, one of the technicians, who liked chattering while he tidied his station, and Aliset, who made Simon laugh so hard that it would sometimes make his voice module glitch into static. But for all the friends he made around the little cosmos of their tower, there still wasn’t anyone who’d been able to give him the same peace that he found in Markus.
When he did go, when the world simply became entirely too much, and his longing for Markus turned into a physical, painful ache, he always found a tangible excuse. A particularly good update, a bit of news that could be relevant, and hadn't been discussed in every corner and corridor of the tower. Or just a bottle of therium, because Markus worked himself ragged, and never asked for anything, before his body's sensors began to remind him.
Markus still welcomed him, with that same smile he always did. He was always surprised that Simon had known his levels were running low, always appreciated whatever tidings Simon brought him, and always had something light and positive to share in return. Simon no longer dared ask for stories, or music, hadn't even commented on the painting, when Markus added it to his otherwise barren office. Not because he didn't think Markus would sit with him, if he asked, but because Simon knew he would. Markus wouldn't deny him anything, even something as precious as his time. But because Simon didn't feel like he had any right to keep taking it.

He wouldn't tonight, either, even if every artificial nerve in his body was screeching for the relief it would give him. He'd go, and tell Markus about the woman's progress, assure him that it had been the right choice to bring her back online. He'd bring a bottle of therium, and smile at Markus when he told him, and if Markus smiled back when he listened..... then that would be enough. If Markus drank the bottle, and looked like he'd given himself proper rest recently, then it would be enough. Seeing Markus would be enough for him, because it had to be.

Simon plucked the small bottle of blue liquid from the cooler, and made his way to the elevator, quickening his step not to lose his resolve. Though androids didn't need nearly as much rest as humans, and few took their stasis at set times and intervals, the tower did always feel quieter at this hour of the day, once you moved past the communal interaction levels. There wasn't a need to follow the cycle of light and dark, since they relied on nothing truly organic, and no real need to follow the schedules of humans. And yet they had, almost by universal agreement, fallen into the same delineations of work and leisure.Which meant that at the late hour (23;46;07), almost everyone on the higher floors would have retired to their living quarters, or be socialising on one of the lower levels.
Simon knew, however, that Markus would have done neither. Whenever Markus appeared downstairs, people parted like water around him. either stepping aside, to avoid interrupting the purpose that brought him, or gathering like eager children around a teacher. Previously, North and Josh would have sat with him, letting Simon do the same. Though the four together still drew attention, it made Markus stand out less. It had permitted others to join them more easily, to speak a little more freely. Had made it all feel a little like it had, back when everything was new. It had made this place feel a little more like home. But without Josh and North it hadn't really felt the same, and Markus had simply stopped trying.
He wouldn't be in stasis either, though Simon did pause and peer through the window of the darkened conference room. Markus' bedroom, in the sense that Simon knew he only ever rested on the small couch in there. He could have had a dedicated bedroom for himself, if he'd wanted it, could have had an entire floor at his disposal. But Markus hadn't even chosen to give himself a dedicated place to lay down, and disengage his conscious processes.
The room was empty, just as Simon had expected, and he carried on to the office door instead.
He meant to knock, he did, and wasn't sure what had persuaded him not to. Instead, he'd pushed his fingers to the electronic door pad, and slipped silently inside as the door came open, guiding it quietly closed behind him.
As expected, Markus still sat at his desk. Brows slightly furrowed and his fingers resting on the edge of the tablet he was reading from, as a small halo of light lay around him, from the desk lamp currently acting as the only source of light in the room. He looked stoic, head tilted slightly to read and his lips just parted, as if any minute he might start narrating the words on the screen. But he also looked so profoundly alone, stranded on his little island of light, shoulders squared against the world.
For a long moment, all Simon could do was watch him, counting his artificial breaths and matching his own to them. Ache to go and take the hand that lay along the desktop, cradling an entirely unnecessary stylus, as all of Markus' attention seemed to be on the screen in his other hand.

By the time Markus put the tablet down, and finally stood, Simon had entirely missed the chance to clear his throat, and make himself known. Instead, he waited, until Markus set his eyes on him, and just smiled.
"How long have you been waiting?" Markus' voice was apologetic, no hint of chiding or admonishment for Simon’s intrusion, as he came round and leaned against the front of the desk.
"Only a moment" Simon considered turning up the light in the room, but instead approached the little circle of warm light that fell about Markus, like the promise of sanctuary "Am I..... disturbing you?".

Chapter Text

“No,” Markus said, wondering if Simon heard the hopeful tone in his voice. “No, don't worry about it. I was just finishing for the night” he amended, nodding towards the tablet, the screen of which had gone dark where it lay “You have good timing”.

It sounded almost like an invitation, Simon thought, at the very least a reassurance that he was allowed to linger. That maybe Markus even wanted him to. Or maybe he was only being polite, reassuring Simon, because Markus knew he got anxious about taking up space.
“I brought you this” Simon said, offering the bottle of Therium, instead of getting lost in his own thoughts. He sat down on the edge of the chair, as Markus took the bottle, settling himself into the pool of lamplight, that defined Markus’ space in the room; felt something in his chest release and relax, when Markus went from slightly leaning on the front of the desk, to fully sitting on it, the tips of his shoes nearly brushing the edges of the chair.
“I thought you might be running low” Simon added, nodding to the bottle, and smiling when Markus uncapped it and brought it to his lips for a deep swallow.
“I didn't think I was,” Markus replied, thoughtfully studying the bottle in his hand, as he felt the therium mingle with what was already in his system. The added levels made it move more freely, leaving a pleasantly energized buzz in its wake. It was a fine edge, when his levels were low enough to be noticeable, but not low enough for warnings. Somehow, he only ever managed to notice it, when the sluggish feeling was relieved, not when it first began to set in.
“Thank you” he said, before draining the bottle fully and replacing the cap, not setting the bottle down just yet “I don't know how it is, that you always just…. seem to know.”.
Simon just smiled. He didn't have the heart to tell him that it always seemed safe to assume that Markus wasn't taking proper care of himself.
“The woman that was found on third street” Simon started instead, looking up at his friend, as if looking for approval as he spoke “she was able to fully reboot, and the repairs are following schedule. There's only two more rounds of replacements left, before we turn to the fully cosmetic work. Within a week, two at most, she should be entirely restored”.
“And how is she handling the repairs?” Markus had leaned forward, just a little, and even lit from the back, and his face draped in shadows, he all but radiated his eagerness “they said such extensive repairs might be too much for her system to handle?”.
“Better than we feared. Slower than we'd hoped”
“Considering what she went through…” Markus raised one shoulder, just a fraction, and turned the empty bottle in his hand “the fact that we can bring her back at all, even if it’s slowly, the fact that we can practically rebuild someone. We’ve come far”.
The final decision had been his. Markus had spent the better part of a morning listening to discussions on the ethics of rebooting someone after such extensive trauma, when they weren’t sure they’d be able to fully repair them. There’d been discussions on how much one person could be rebuilt and still be considered themselves. The question of life quality had been interesting, but devolved into an argument about who was to make such a call, and by what parameters.
They were done having such choices made for them, no matter by who or with what intentions. Markus wasn’t about to let other androids take the place of human masters, no matter how kind their intentions were. So he had ended the debate with a command himself, ironic as it was, that she be sent to the Care station. To make the choice herself, once she was in a state to do so.
Seeing the tightness beneath the lightly stubbled synth skin of Markus’ jaw, the distance in his eyes, made Simon’s chest tighten impossibly. He leaned forward, just a little, inching himself into Markus’ space. He meant to say something, add to the conversation, or change the subject. He meant to say Something.
But then Markus lifted his eyes, and the words evaporated in Simon’s throat, as he found himself suddenly transfixed by the warmth of that familiar gaze. In that moment, he couldn't see the tension around Markus' eyes, the tiredness he'd almost come to expect. It felt the same way it always had between them, as if the rest of the world simply fell away, leaving them in their private, suspended moment.

Markus had been lost in thought for a moment, maybe longer, when he felt Simon shifting in his seat. And when Markus looked up, Simon had been so very close, and it had been a different thought that claimed his focus, sending everything else staggering into silence. Because all he could think of was the blue of Simon's eyes, as they reflected the trace of light that spilled from somewhere behind Markus' back. How soft the curve of his cheek looked, in that same golden hue. Imagining how it might feel, to run his fingertip over the synthetic skin. To map out every tiny shift, when Simon smiled.
Without looking away, without consciously making the decision to move, Markus reached out. Not for Simon's face, but just enough to trace his index finger along the sleeve of Simon's jacket. The tactile sensation of the fabric, warm from Simon's body, and slightly coarse against Markus' sensitive fingertips, sent a pleasant hum through his manual sensors.
It also drew him from his reveries. Gave a sharp reminder of the fact that he wasn't alone, that he'd sat for....what, minutes? And just stared at his friend in awkward silence. It was getting embarrassing, he needed to pull himself together, to say.....something. His other hand tightened around the empty bottle, the contrast of cold, smooth glass helping to ground him, and as he straightened his back. Simon seemed to relax too, leaning back slightly into the worn leather of his chair.

“You're leaving tomorrow, right?” Simon asked, his voice breaking the last of the awkward tension, and Markus was almost grateful for it. Almost, because the shift meant that Simon's face was once again in shadow, and Markus was suddenly, painfully aware of the warmth that had come off of Simon, and was now gone, leaving the room to feel even colder.
“Yeah. Tomorrow afternoon, there's another big conference, New York this time”
At least it was a good distraction, and Markus fell into talking about meeting schedules, and the nightmareish security details Connor and North had concocted. About how incredibly loud he'd realised humans were, after having acclimated to the quiet hum of their own little world, and about the tiring, almost comically layered formality they always insisted on. He talked about the topics of the conference, and the speech he'd be giving on the new integration laws. Permitted himself a fond smile, when he talked about Charlie, the former secretary who now acted as his personal assistant, and the pointed tally they kept, of everyone who invited him to meet over dinner, only to realize, usually too late, that he wouldn't actually be eating. “I'm not sure if it's a compliment, or an insult, that they forget we aren't human” Markus mused, winding down from what had, once again, felt like a monolog “at least it gives me a chance to speak more directly with some of them, in a more relaxed setting”.
He shrugged, rolling his shoulders, as if to push off the weight of the task ahead “You should come along sometime..... I think you'd enjoy flying. I still find it fascinating; I don't think I'll ever tire of seeing the world shrink away beneath me”.

Simon listened as Markus laid out the experience for him, imagining the sprawled hotel rooms, the just managed chaos of the airport. Letting the details soften in his mind, as he watched Markus' shifting expression. Tried not to let himself miss the softness that had been between them, just moments ago.
“I wouldn't be much use” Simon said, almost apologetically, letting his gaze dip “I'm not a politician, and humans still make me a little....anxious”. He wanted to, of course, but he no longer belonged in that place besides Markus. Not really. And nothing would spell it out more vividly, than following on Markus' coattails, through meetings and social events he didn't fully understand.
“And you'd be missed here too, even if it's just for a few days” Markus' added, softening the edge of the implied rejection. As much as he wanted to steal Simon away with him, and show him how much the world was changing, even outside the confines of their private haven, it wasn't right to impose himself. He was already being selfish, monopolizing Simon's time whenever he came into the office.
Markus stood, extending a hand to help Simon up, signalling the end of the visit. And for all that Simon wanted to protest, to keep asking questions, and draw the minutes out just a little further, he just smiled, and took the offered hand. He didn't need it, of course, but it was an excuse to close his fingers around Markus' for a moment. To stand, directly into his space, and breathe the faint scent that always seemed to cling to him. Of fresh air, and paint, the therium that still left the faintest traces on his lips, and something ephemeral that was just....Markus.

They walked to the door together, Simon wishing Markus a safe trip, before stepping out into the hallway. He watched the light in the office wink out, as the door slipped closed behind him, and lingered just outside, as another came on in the conference room. Just for a beat, and then another. Then that too went dark , and Simon turned down the faintly lit corridor, making his way back to the elevator.

Chapter Text

“Did you see it?” Aliset all but chirped, plopping onto the couch beside Simon, in a move carefully crafted to avoid any trace of elegance.
He blinked at her, slightly frowning in confusion “see what?”.
“Oh my Ghod, the video I sent you? The angry pigeon??”.
The frown deepened, along with the uneasy feeling of missing something that should be obvious. “I don’t think you sent me anything? I didn’t get any notification”.
The AX400 let out a loud, entirely unnecessary, huff “yeah, I did. You were busy, so I didn’t add a notification. Didn’t want to pull you away from your work, just to see a pigeon throwing a fit. But seriously, you Have to see it”.
Aliset sat up halfway, and stared intently at Simon, knowing the exaggerated body language would earn her a chuckle. He obliged, raising his hand to push at her face, as he distractedly navigated through his HUD. He pulled up the folder of unannounced, unread messages; and froze, his hand hovering just short of Aliset’s face. The message at the top was marked with Aliset’s name and serial number, showing a line of emojis and an attached video; a cropped and curated snippet of Aliset’s memory.
What made his internal processors stutter, were the rows and rows of similarly unread notes beneath it. A few were from Josh, one from Sebastian, but the name on the majority read Markus - RK200 #684 842 971.

He blinked, time seeming to resume around him; he let his hand drop, registering the curious tilt of Aliset’s face as it came back into view, and curled himself back into the couch.  Markus had messaged him, time and time again, and if not for Aliset’s impatience, he might never have realized…..
“You okay Sim?” Her voice was soft, as she dropped against his shoulder, her usual brand of casual affection fully drawing Simon back into the reality of the media center.
“Yeah” he breathed, blinking again before offering a shaky smile “yeah, I’m fine. Just realized I’ve missed a lot of notes”.
“Oh, Fun” she beamed, and lightly poked two fingers at his side, making no movement to sit back up “watch the pigeon first though”.
He nodded, eyes flicking lightly as he brought up the top message, and watched the short clip; a pigeon desperately flapping at a pane of window glass, attempting to peck at the flickering LED of an android resting on the other side. Overlaid was Aliset’s bubbling giggles, slightly clipped from being heard through her own mind.
The clip ended, and the message cleared itself from his storage, its contents reallocated to the temporary memory, to be shifted to long term, or simply whisked away next time he entered stasis.
“I guess the automatic cleaning systems are working well” Simon remarked, lips quirking, only to be met with the same giggle from the clip “The pigeon guy would probably argue for turning them down, honestly. Do you think that if we introduced him to Mills, he’d try nibbling on him too?”.
The mental image of the lithe man (Rupert, wasn’t it?) hovering beside the docile TR400 and attempting to catch the spinning light of his LED, drew an involuntary laugh from Simon. visibly pleased, Aliset let herself fully drop into her friend's lap, lifting her hands to frame her thoughts as she slipped into the next topic “you should come out with us tomorrow, you know? You’ve been cooped up down in repairs for too long, and we - I really, you know -  found this little place, with really good music, and the lights are great-”.

Simon let his eyes flick over the string of unopened messages one last time, before clearing his visual display and turning back to Aliset. He was eager to delve into them, the anticipation almost like static along his internal wiring. But he wanted to be alone for it. Whatever lay beneath those seemingly innocuous name tags deserved his full attention.

—

He’d gently rebuffed the idea of going out with Aliset and her friends, and she had seamlessly pivoted to talking about an upcoming street fair, and then a movie night she was going to organize.
As the time of the New York broadcast grew closer, others began filtering into the media center. It was still considered something of an event whenever Markus appeared on screen, and Simon loved the communal feeling of everyone crowding together to watch. It felt like it had back then, when Markus stood up to speak, spurring everyone to action, his voice the thread that bound them all together.

A new message popped into Simon’s field of vision, accompanied by the familiar hum of a notification. Markus always attached a notification, when he responded to the messages Simon sent him. It seemed the natural thing to do, in the same way it was sensible for Simon to leave them off. After all, Markus received countless messages every day, it was common courtesy for everyone not to constantly crowd his attention, and demand his focus when it was needed elsewhere.
Simon felt a tug of fondness, as he read the short message, lingering on the words for a long moment, before reluctantly dismissing it.
“Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in one place. If half of them listen, we’re off to a good start”.
Markus had been standing behind the podium, the same one now shown on the large screen across the room, and taken the time to think of Simon.
Apparently, he’d done that a lot more than Simon ever suspected…..

On the screen, Markus stepped onto the podium, flanked by two men who looked almost exactly like Connor, except for their steely gray eyes and the distinctly inhuman air of their mirrored movements. The RK900 models had been found when sweeping the cyberlife tower, back when it hadn’t yet officially been signed over to the foundation of New Jericho. They’d been awakened, in both the literal and deviant sense, and three of them had remained in New Jericho, while the last had joined the DPD. It had been their luck, that those four hadn’t had the chance to realize their original purpose, having still been locked away in a testing facility during the revolution itself. If not, everything might have ended up very differently.
The silent presence of Caleb and Niles, standing a few steps behind Markus, always settled Simon’s nerves. No one would dare raise as much as a hand, when the two of them watched. Whatever happened, they would keep Markus safe; Make sure that he came home.

Markus was wearing a gray suit, overlaid with a long, black wool coat, as he stepped up to the microphone stand.
The crowd hushed, and Simon’s breath fell silent along with them. The camera sharpened on Markus’ face; his intense gaze and the slight, approachable smile that shaped his lips never failed to draw everyone’s attention. He was beautiful, Simon thought, as he studied Markus’ expression, in the few quiet seconds before he spoke. Beautiful, not just in the sense of his design and how he chose to frame himself, but in the determinate way he always carried himself. It was the passion that sparked behind his mismatched eyes; the way he always spoke with immediate conviction, even when every word and slight gesture was carefully scripted. It was the warmth of him, that bled through even in the most formal of settings.
It was all of those things that had originally drawn their people to him, which had convinced the humans to listen to them. It was that which captivated Simon, every time he watched the man face first the cameras, then the crowd, and raise his voice.

The speech lasted exactly 41 minutes and 33 seconds, and Simon wasn’t the only one who barely blinked through the whole of it.
As the broadcast wound down, and the speaker moved to other topics of the day, the crowd in the media center began to disburse.
Simon caught up with Josh and one of his colleagues on the server project, as they meandered their way out and back towards the central lobby. They exchanged a few remarks about the speech and the hopes for the conference, and as they were about to part, Josh suggested Simon join him later in the day. Simon smiled, eyes flickering slightly as he made some excuse about being needed in the recovery area.
He didn’t feel right about lying to Josh, but he couldn’t bring himself to delay his private moment longer than necessary, and even less to explain why he needed it. Simon didn’t know what to expect from what he’d found, but he knew that whatever it was, he wanted the moment of discovery to be his alone.

—-

Simon did make his way down to the Care center. Even if he wanted to find a quiet corner, there were still things that needed seeing to, before he could fully relax.
He greeted Gina at the front desk, and poked his head into the repairs bay, finding it empty.

Stepping into the recovery area, he was startled by a loud voice, pitched and static-laced “SiMon!”.
At the far corner, on one of the silicone-padded recovery tables, sat the woman he’d spent so many silent hours with over the last days.
She still didn’t wear her skin, but the stark white plastic of her chassis had been partially covered by a blue dress, and the sheet still lay across her knees. She was smiling, as she reached out her hand towards him, and Simon crossed the room in a half jog to meet her.

“Simonn” she repeated, as her fingers squeezed his, with far more strength than he’d seen in her before “I kne-w you WouLd comeee”.
“Of course” he nodded, squeezing her fingers in return “yeah, of course. You look-“.
He was cut off by a burst of static-laced laughter and an enthusiastic nod, which caused her to drop his hand and grip the table, a few, glitchy sounds escaping her throat.
“It’s… betTer” she croaked, the smile reforming as she found her balance again “But t still not gooD. I ne-need to get uSed to the New.... paRTs”. She raised her hand, weaving it around a moment, before settling it against her jaw, indicating the newest repair. The chassies had had to be partially chipped away, where it had melted into the old voice module. The visible wires and the stark, blue peek of a therium tube invoked a deep, rootless sense of discomfort in Simon. Like the memory of pain, which androids only understood as a concept, but which still sent a warning spark along his spinal cable.
“You'll get there, don't worry” he said softly “you've done remarkably already, and they say the worst is over”. He reached for her hand again, and heard a soft click from his own fingers, when she gripped him with unnecessary force.
“Yezz. Not muchMorEe, just iNside wire s. Andd plateZ” she tapped a fingertip to the plate covering her central panel, eyes seeming to skip slightly as she followed the movement, and then jerked her head up to meet his eyes, seeming to throw her internal gyroscope off again.
 “nEed to res-staasiz. My heaD is swimming. Buttt I wanTed to zee yOu firZt. My fRiend SiMmon” her words grew more muddled by the moment, the static glitch deepening, as her frayed processors overheated. He should tell her to lay down, to rest, but he couldn't bring himself to, even for her own sake. She'd been trapped in her own mind since the reboot, her strained processors barely able to close her eyes most nights, and he wasn't about to shut down this first taste of freedom. At least, not yet.
“I'm glad. Really, this is.... I'm so happy, seeing you like this” he told her, feeling a slight strain in his own voice module, which only deepened as she smiled a little brighter, her brown eyes clear and sparkling as they met his. “It's so good to see you better”.
“Willll you. StaYy wiThmme, to Zlep?” she asked, her voice, even in all its glitching, hinting at something akin to worry.
He nodded, placing his other hand over hers as well, and letting the skin retract from his fingers. The familiar comfort of the touch drew a sigh, venting some of the excess heat from her overworked system. She nodded, and stayed quiet, when Simon helped her back down to lay on the table. Keeping their fingers lightly connected, as he pulled the sheet back over her, and awkwardly settled himself on the edge of the table.

He'd grab a chair, once she was fully in stasis, and sit with her for the night. But for right now, he just wanted her to feel his presence, and whatever safety she could take from it.
“Simon” she hummed, a few moments later, as her LED settled into slow rotations of blue. There was no static left, now that her processors had settled, and her voice held a rich, dark honey tone, which Simon instantly knew he liked.
Once the nameless woman had slipped fully into stasis, and her LED had stayed quietly blue for several minutes, he extracted his fingers from her frozen grasp. When that didn't make her stir, he quietly slipped from the table, and retrieved the chair he'd sat in the night before. Close enough to touch, and with the rest of the floor having settled into its usual, quiet him, Simon let himself sink back into the creaking plastic upholstery.

Then he closed his eyes, drew a deep, grounding breath, and quickly brought the message thread back up. Some small, utterly irrational, part of him had worried that they would have been deleted once he'd closed the program. Instead, he found that another message had been added at the top, ticking in just 7 minutes before. Another one from Markus.
Letting the message fill his internal display, Simon looked at the backs of Niles and Caleb, walking along a sharply lit hallway. Their movements were perfectly synced, legs lifted at precisely the same angle and height, as their faces turned in mirror of each other, scanning the area around them. A private snapshot, capturing Markus' view in that exact moment, and framed with the text “I know it's for my own safety, and I do appreciate them, but the thoroughness always sets me a little on edge”.
It felt so easy, so effortless, a throw away remark and a captured moment, but it sent a spark of crackling static through Simon's chest. Like being invited to peek into something entirely private. Sharing a stay thought, even if they were miles and miles apart.

Other messages were much the same; An old android parking area, turned into a bench, the picture sent without a caption. 

the sunrise reflecting off of the side of the tower, illuminating the myriad windows in golden light. Simon could almost hear the quiet hum of Markus' voice in the caption “My favourite moment of the day”. There was a short video clip of Charlie, perfectly immitating Markus' voice as they sweetly told someone outside the frame to “Kindly go fuck yourself”.

Then there was the picture of a giraffe, standing in a much too curated hall, and captioned “It's strange, how this place both feels like coming home, and somewhere I don't really belong anymore”. Carl’s house, Simon realized. Markus had described it to him in detail, and something about the words made his chest ache, just a little. 

It got worse, when it was followed by a single line “I hope you get to rest soon. I just passed you in the hallway, and you look like you need it”.

there was a still capture from the Strathford tower, and Simon froze. Everything ground to a halt, as his therium pump stuttered in his chest. The image was of the street entrance, framing the back of Josh and one of the people from the PR team, as they passed the wide doors. Further inside, he could just see the outline of one of the RK900 models, angrily gesturing at someone. The caption, which Simon felt burn itself into his very core, read “I hate coming back to this place. For all the good we did that day, leaving you behind was the single most painful thing I've ever made myself do. I hope you can forgive me, someday”.

Simon opened his eyes, and stared into the darkened room, drawing slow and meticulous breaths and trying to forcibly ground himself. He wanted Markus. Needed him, to reassure him, and try to soften the pain of that memory. But he couldn't.... at least not right now. Because the message was almost two months old, and because Markus was in New York, and because.... well, because Simon still wasn't sure how he'd go about saying it. How to address any of it, really.

The oldest message, aside from a few practical notes that had been sent to everyone in the tower, was from Connor. A long, rather formal apology for “losing his composure" the first time they'd sat down together. The former Deviant hunter had shared some of the things he'd been compelled to do, before his meeting with Markus aboard the Jericho.

The first message from Markus had been sent that same night; “I hope you are giving yourself time to rest”.
That's when it had started. Every few days Markus would send a message, sharing some small moment of his day, or wishing Simon well with his. 
Three months ago, almost to the day, Markus had invited him to go up on the roof to watch a passing meteor shower, and Simon felt his therium pump flutter.... only to momentarily stop, when the next message, sent the following night, apologized for being forward. 
Then a gap of nearly two weeks, after which the same pattern of easy, unobtrusive messages resumed.

Simon couldn't fully pinpoint where the tone of the messages changed, when they began to dip into more intimate thoughts, more private moments. But suddenly, accompanying a picture of a distant moon, framed by a slightly streaky window, was the words “I have realized you never read these. That's okay, really, it makes saying things easier. Knowing you'll never hear them. I miss you, Simon”.

He kept his eyes open, long enough for his visual display to flash a warning about his ocular components drying up, but he didn’t want to look away. Eventually, he let the message go, blinking away the remaining messages for later. He drew his legs up onto the chair, and wrapped his arms around his knees. Markus would be back in a few days, and every artificial nerve in Simon’s body ached to fall into him, and mirror his unspoken sentiment.

Chapter Text

Simon replayed the memory of the messages each night before stasis, and each night after. He paced himself through the days, opening one or two at a time, when there was a quiet moment to indulge. Each of them slotted seamlessly into the unfolding, private narrative.

Most of them were just mundane reflections; a picture of a flower growing between cracked bricks, the boardroom in quiet evening light, people draped into their chairs and winding down from a day's work. The view over the central lobby. Each of them had a quiet moment, where Markus had thought of him.

Now and then, there’d be the ones that made Simon forget the world around him and freeze, studying every minute detail. Try to pry every grain of meaning from what was shared, while tamping down that hopeful spark, stubbornly growing into certainty.

“Water always makes me think of you.”

A paper pad, lying beside a tablet showing statistics. The glass screen blurred, as Markus' focus had been on the sketch; blue ink over the lined paper. A careful study of Simon’s face, half smiling and eyes averted; the lines made him look soft, almost content.

A pair of speakers, tucked discreetly among the folders on a shelf in Markus’ office; the tips of his feet, seen from below, peeking into the edge of the frame. The soft notes of classical music accompanied the image, and the caption “Taking a break, just like you told me.”

The last message, which Simon opened as soon as he reinitialized the day of Markus’ return, was a view of early sunlight over a blanket of clouds.

---

Watching Niles and Caleb relax by slow degrees was what going home looked like, spelled out in physical detail. Markus caught himself watching Caleb’s shoulders over the back of his seat, or the way Niles’ fingers slowly unclenched on his knee, and felt his own artificial muscles soften, as the autocab wound its way through Detroit.

Charlie had been chattering since they got into the cab, relaying their impressions of the conference. Helpful statistics mingled with dry humor and delivered with a newsreader's perfect cadence. Their voice tapered as the autocab paused at the last checkpoint, then picked back up on the final stretch, brighter now as they talked about seeing their partner again.

They slipped away as soon as they hit the lobby, giving Markus’ arm a not-quite-apologetic squeeze goodbye.

Caleb and Niles peeled away to debrief in Security, while one of the council members intercepted Markus, eager to catch him up on what had passed in his absence.

He permitted himself a look around as his small group dispersed into the lobby and caught himself strangely missing the greeting of Carl’s alarm system. The feeling of someone, even something, welcoming him home.

Day had dipped well into evening before Markus found himself alone in his office. There were things to do, of course; people to follow up with and invitations to extend, but he couldn’t persuade himself to start. Not tonight. He deserved a break after nearly a week of constant engagement.

He let the overheads fade and brought up a quiet piece of music. Sound filled the room as he dropped into his well-worn chair by the desk. Fingers followed the notes on an imagined piano as he tried to think of nothing but the music.

His calm was broken by a light tap at the door, and he internally braced for what was to come, only to let out a soft breath when it was Simon who stepped through.

He was smiling, almost excited, only to have the expression fall into something like anxiety, as the door whispered closed behind him. Markus rose to meet him, surprised when there wasn’t the usual offer of a bottle. Tension crept in, settling along his spine and keeping him from truly relaxing, as he perched on the corner of the desk. Something was...off. Markus couldn’t put his finger on what, even as Simon padded across the room to claim his usual seat, but it set him fully on edge.

Simon felt his resolve deflate as the door closed behind him. He’d waited for this moment, not just since that morning, but ever since he’d read those first messages. Since always, in a way.

But now that he was here, Markus close enough to touch, he came up blank. He wanted to bring up the messages, but he had no idea how. As simple as it should be, touching a secret that had lain painfully forgotten for months felt like something that might break in a hundred different ways. Markus was looking at him so intently, worried eyes scanning his face as if searching for something, and all Simon could offer was a weak smile, to try and soothe the visible fear.

“How was the trip?” Simon asked, hating himself for being a coward, when Markus had been silently reaching for him for so long.

So this was it: Simon was pulling away too. The realization hit with the undeniable clarity of breaking glass. Markus felt his insides clench around his therium pump, felt it stutter out of sync with his body, as his lips pulled into a half smile, and one shoulder rose in a noncommittal shrug.

“It went well,” he heard himself say. How could anyone sound so calm when they were so close to coming apart? “Everything according to schedule. I don’t think Charlie would permit anything else.”

He didn’t dare to look at Simon. If he did, then it would all come tumbling out; all of his longing, all of the moments when he’d had to stop himself. All of those empty nights, when all he had wanted was to curl up to Simon and drown in the soft warmth of him.

Instead, he stared at his empty hands, closing his fingers around nothing and trying to hold on to his resolve.

“We made good progress. Started some good conversations.” He needed to keep going, needed to keep talking, so the moment wouldn't end, and Simon wouldn't leave. But after a whole week of nothing but words, he couldn't grasp a single one to save him now.

Markus seemed far away. Tense, in a way that Simon hadn't seen; like something in him was stretched tight, might tear any moment. Like his carefully measured words were the only thing keeping it from swallowing him whole.

So when Markus fell quiet, Simon reached out. Not because he was brave, or knew what to say, when Markus lifted his eyes, and looked so painfully lost. Not even because Simon wanted to touch him, though he did, unbearably.

But because Markus needed it, and there was nothing that Simon couldn't do if it was for him.

He put his hand on Markus' knee, barely any weight at all; just enough to ask for attention. Even that small point of contact sent static crackling along Simon's entire chassis.

For a moment, Markus only looked at him, breath suspended. Then he covered Simon's hand with his own, slowly, to let him pull away. Palm over knuckles, like cupping a butterfly against glass.

“I missed you,” Simon breathed, finishing on a static crackle, as Markus' fingers tightened. Half a beat later, Markus had slipped from the desk, leaned over the chair and nudged Simon back into the seat.

The kiss was intense, breathless, utterly inelegant. Markus' fingers curled into Simon's lapels; not to pull him closer, but to hold them both in place. When he finally drew back, the fear was gone, replaced by something close to wonder.

"I… missed you too."

The next kiss was softer, as Simon rose to meet him. Markus framed Simon's shoulders, then folded him closer against him. They slid to the floor between the chair and desk, never quite breaking contact, until they were huddled together in the narrow space. Markus on his knees, Simon leaning into his chest, feather-soft lips brushing the corner of Markus' mouth.

"If you knew how long I've wanted this…" Markus' voice went quiet, almost reverent. He shifted to settle Simon fully into his arms. "To touch you like this..." His thumb skimmed over Simon's cheek, ghosting the line of his jaw and sending a tantalizing prickle of feedback along his manual sensors. Simon sighed faintly; a useless, perfect little sound of contentment, that only made Markus' smile soften.

Silence settled, but for the hum of the piano somewhere above them. There was no need to speak, as Markus stroked Simon's face, fingers tracing his jawline, playing along the edge of his ear. Each little touch, a reminder that he was here.

"I read your messages..." Simon finally whispered, at the quiet between one piece of music and the next. Markus went still, the touch on his cheek pausing, and his own fingers bunched into Markus' shirt, ready to pull him back.

"Markus, I'm sorry, I-" Another kiss silenced him, and Simon could feel the curve of Markus' smile. Imagined the warm embarrassment shading it.

"I thought you deleted them. Or maybe just ignored them..."

"I never knew they were there. I didn't expect..." Simon swallowed, an entirely unnecessary reflex, and leaned back just enough to see him. Markus' smile was soft, the expression holding that same, curious wonder, as Simon finished his thought "I read every last one while you were gone."
"That's why you came?"
"No..." Simon met Markus' gaze again "I would have come no matter what. I always want to... but they made me braver than I thought I could be.".

"So I can keep sending them?" Markus chuckled, drawing Simon back against him. The only reply given was another kiss.

There was more that needed saying, tender spots to soothe and assurances to repeat. But as evening turned to night, and dipped into early morning, neither of them reached for more than lingering kisses and small, experimental touches.

As the building began to wake around them, Markus drew Simon to the couch, not willing to part yet, but feeling the ache for rest in every delightfully overloaded processor.

The last clear thought in Markus' mind, before stasis took him, laying there with Simon in his arms, one finger idly turning a blond lock of hair, was simple and certain: this was what coming home felt like.

Chapter Text

“Okay, one last calibration test, and we’re all done,” Sebastian said, and smiled as he picked up the laminated board that lay on the bench beside him.
Simon stood behind the technician and smiled encouragingly at the woman, who sat on the worktable across from him. Phoenix, as she had decided to call herself now, though the name did give him slight discomfort, all considered. Simon half suspected that was why she chose it.
She was entirely unrecognizable from the first time he’d met her, the careful work of the technicians having erased any outward sign of the damage she’d suffered. But it was much more than that. It was all the little differences, as she smiled, curled her bare toes in curious excitement, and raised her hand to the board, which made Simon’s artificial heart hum in his chest.
Her motions were fluid, as she rapidly tapped the little colored dots by Sebastian’s instructions, alternating hands and fingers without ever breaking rhythm. She stood, touched her finger to her nose, first the left and then the right, as she twirled. Dipped to touch her toes, and stretched up as far as her fingertips could reach, before falling into Sebastian for a hug, a pearling giggle emanating from her lips. There was no trace of static left, and not the slightest hitch in her motion.
“You’re all done” Sebastian announced, returning the hug before turning to Simon, as to introduce them, fingertips still lingering together for a moment. “Astonishing, aren’t I?” she teased, meeting Simon’s eyes and mirroring his smile as he nodded.
“Entirely.”
She said her goodbyes to Sebastian, giving his cheek a small peck and promising visit, before taking Simon’s arm and following him out, her steps almost bouncing.
It had been about a week since she’d first left the recovery room and started familiarizing herself with New Jericho, and all the ways life was different from what she’d known. They’d still needed to do smaller repairs, but she’d been so eager to take it all in that she’d simply refused to let the work slow her down, even when she’d needed to be carried back down at the end of a day. Now, she all but floated, as she waved goodbye to Gina, and steered Simon toward the elevator.
“I might miss the techs, they’ve all been so sweet to me,” she chirped, as she leaned against the window of the elevator, letting Simon pick their floor “but if I never need to see the inside of the repair bay again, it’ll still be too soon.”
“Sebastian likes walking the trails outside,” Simon mused, drawing her attention momentarily from the view “I’m sure he’d love the company.”
She nodded eagerly, keeping perfect balance as she did, and Simon struggled to contain the widening of his smile.
“Where are we going?” She asked as the elevator came to a halt, and she peeked into an unfamiliar hallway. “you said you wanted me to meet someone?”
“Yeah, he’s… it’s my boyfriend. I’ve told him a lot about you, and he’s very eager to meet you.”
The woman smiled, taking Simon’s arm again and letting him lead her along as the soft hum of piano music drifted down to meet them.